The Last Patrol
by Mislav
Summary: My version of the season two premiere. Everett Backstrom tries to get his life back on the track and ensure his father's conviction while investigating the murder of a police officer. Case!fic.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't own any of the Backstrom characters and I am not making any money from writing this.**

 **Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.**

 **This is basically my version of season two premiere... too bad that there will never be one. Everett Backstrom is still grumpy a cynical, mostly due to a current situation that he is in, but the progress that he made in season one-especially in the finale-will eventually come to light. And he probably has a particular dislike for corrupt cops due to his father... so there is that.**

Everett woke up at about eight am, as usual. With a headache, as usual.

He groaned and crawled out of the bed, heading to the door. Gregory had already been up, sitting at the kitchen table and eating cereal.

"Good morning", he said.

Everett mumbled something and picked up his mail. There was only one letter, without the return address. He rubbed his eyes and exhaled before opening the envelope. He scratched his head and pulled the letter out.

Everett snickered, not looking up, and heading over to the kitchen table.

"More threatening letters?", Gregory commented, eating his bowl of cereal with skinned milk that his landlord despised.

Everett grimaced, opening the refrigerator door. "You shut your dirty mouth", he groaned before putting the letters and the envelopes down on the table. "And yes", he mumbled.

Gregory looked up. "You can have police protection, you know."

Everett glared at him, sitting down at the table. "I don't need some schmuck standing at my door day at night", he hissed before re-reading the letter. "I have a gun and a dead bolt."

Everett took a sip of his beer. Gregory smiled teasingly. "A light beer. I see you're doing well." He withheld a chuckle. "Now try to go down to less than five bottles a day, starting from eight am."

Everett glared at him. "I still haven't given up bacon." He sighed. "My dad is in prison, and he, probably, still gets the real beer."

Gregory raised his eyebrows. "You can have it too, but you've decided not to." He ate some more cereal. "And your father is under the house arrest", he reminded him.

"Same thing", Everett snapped at him. He looked away. "If he wasn't some hot shot in the middle of nowhere and if the DA wasn't whining about the lack of evidence, he would be doing a real time already."

Gregory shrugged. "Well, they do only have GPS records proving that he was in the area at the approximate time of the murder and one usable shoe print found half a mile away from the place the body had been found, matching to his boots."

Everett glared at him. "What side are you on?", he hissed. A sulk appeared on his face. "And why did I tell you all that anyway?"

"I just want you to be realistic", Gregory said. "This will get complicated, and ugly. It already has." He gulped. "And you still suffer from an alcohol withdrawl."

"Shut up", Everett slurred.

#

Paquet kept putting the crime scene photographs up on the board in her usual style, meaning random. Peter walked by and noticed that the whole thing had drastically changed appearence-and theme, apparently. It was still early in the morning, and there was barely anyone else in the workroom.

"What is this?", he exclaimed.

Paquet grinned. "You like it?"

"Is this... about that attempted murder case from a week ago?", Peter asked instead of answering.

Paquet nodded her head. "I feel like I'm on to something. Even Backstrom agreed."

Peter smiled, turning to face her. "Really?", he asked, teasing her. Pacquet grinned.

It was then that a visibly upset John walked into the room, followed by somewhat distressed Nicole, the heavy footsteps echoing throughout the room with an admirable speed. Peter immediately turned to face them and took a few steps away from Paquet-a force of habit. She gave her two colleagues a surprised look, barely even noticing Peter's reaction.

"We... have to get going", John explained. "Murder. Shooting death. I already informed Backstrom." He swallowed a lump in his throat, looking away for a moment. "The victim's a cop."

#

Everett walked underneath the crime scene tale and over to the crime scene slowly, followed by John. The sky was cloudy and it felt like it might start to rain any moment.

The crime scene was an isolated parking road in one of the less residential areas of the city: the first few buildings were about half a mile away. The patrol car was parked near the end. The driver's side window was broken. A tall, young, dark haired police officer, still with his uniform, with the gun and badge on, was laying on the passenger seat, dead. His head was coated with blood.

Moto was standing near the crime scene tape, a grim look on his face. Gravely was standing a few feet away, making notes. Niedermayer was still taking photographs of the body.

"Officer Michael Gray, thirty, been at the force for seven years, married, no children", John said, breathing heavily. "He was on patrol the other night. He reported back to the station, the last time, at nine pm. He was supposed to return by eleven pm, but he never did." John looked away. "They tried tracking him down via the GPS system in his car, the cellphone signal, nothing worked." He sighed, shuddering. "The search was organized on the places that he was supposed to patrole, no leads. Some joggers found him early this morning. Maybe a robbery gone wrong... his wallet, phone and watch are missing. Nothing else in his possession other than a walkie-talkie, house keys and a bag of chips. Two bullets in the GPS... explains the lack of signal. Two shots in the head. He didn't even get a chance to draw his weapon."

They stopped mere inches away from the car. Backstrom took a look at the body, then took on observing the car, walking back and forth over the crime scene.

"No shell casings, some unclear shoe prints and tyre tracks around", Moto said. "Traces of some pink paint at the side of the patrol car."

"Could be a useful trace evidence", Nicole pointed out, discomfort evident in her voice. She looked away, facing the city landscape to behind. "No eye witnesses, no security cameras near by."

"He had an extra gun in the glove compartment", Peter Niedermayer said, looking up at Everett and John. ".375 caliber revolver. He didn't get a chance to use it either. No shell casings, but it appears that the murderer used .45 caliber handgun. Judging by the liver temperature, he was likely murdered last night between eleven pm and twelve pm." He looked at five paper coffe cups that laid on the passenger seat. "I thought these might help in re-tracing his footsteps, but, apparently, he didn't keep any of the receipts... all purchased from the same chain of cafes, according to the designe, but they have those cafes all over the city."

"We have no idea what he could have been doing here", John commented. "No family living near by, not any of his patrole sites for that night."

"He wasn't murdered here", Everett concluded. "He was murdered elsewhere and transported here."

"You can't know that", Nicole objected.

Everett glared at her. "Really?"

He walked to the back of the car and pointed at the bumber and car tyres, making Nicole take a few steps closer. "Look at the sides of his car. Covered with mud." He looked around. "Do you see any mud near by?" He inhaled sharply. "But there are many forests and isolated roads close to here." He frowned, deep in thought. "The killer who is familiar with the area could certainly use those paths in order to move the body and the car to here without being spotted or caught on traffic cameras."

"Or maybe the victim drove to here himself, using that roads", Nicole suggested. "Maybe he was pursuing a criminal. And there are no signs of body being moved."

Everett looked at her like she was crazy. "The killer used a towing hitch. Didn't you notice the fresh scratch marks on the back bumber and the car tyres? Please!", he snickered.

"Backstrom might be up to something", Peter agreed, still concentrated on the car interior.

Nicole glared at him. "Seriously?"

Peter looked up to meet her eyes, completely guilt-free. "The blood splatters are unusually wide and thin", he explained. "And shaky around the edges. Like the car was still moving for some time while the blood was still wet." He straightened himself up before taking one more look at the crime scene. "And the bullet holes to the GPS device don't seem to be consistent, angle wise, with the wounds on the body. With a blitz-attack. I doubt that the killer shot at it accidentally."

"He, or she, didn't want us to obtain the results", Moto said.

John sighed. "Knowing that they could lead us to an original crime scene."

"It may be hard to get justice for him", Moto commented.

Everett started walking away, taking one more look at the car. "You better work on how to reveal-or not to reveal-that officer Michael Gray was corrupt", he muttered.

Everyone stared at him. Nicole's jaw almost hit the floor. Niedermayer just stared blankly at Everett. Moto gulped.

"What?", John asked silently, trying to control his temper.

"Corrupt!", Everett spat out. "Dirty. Crooked. You know the meaning, right?"

John took a deep breath, clenching his fists. "Lieutenant, that young man was a model police officer. A married man." He gritted his teeth. "Watch your mouth."

Everett took a step closer, looking John straight in the eyes, his jaw clenched. "And you take a look at him. New Italian boots, so much hair gel, obviously expensive one, that it made me want to rip my nose off, and let's not forgot that he kept an extra gun-his personal weapon-in the glove compartment. Check bank records or something and you'll find your guy." He snickered and turned around, then put the cigarette back in his mouth. "I have better things to do."

He walked away, others staring after him in shock.

~OPENING ROLES AND CREDITS~


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I don't own any of the "Backstrom" characters and I am not making any money from writing this.**

 **Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.**

 **Backstrom lifting a piece of evidence off the crime scene wasn't exactly made clear in the first chapter, but that is kind of the point. While watching the show, I had a feeling that Nicole was becoming a little more like Backstrom, with him almost being a mentor to her, and this chapter explores that a bit. I still haven't gotten around to including Backstrom's "I'm you" catchphrase, but I will.**

It was hard watching Helene Gray. Her face was pale, her eyes watery, her fists clenched. She couldn't stop shivering. She was sitting on a living room couch, oprostite to Nicole and John, who were sitting on the sofa.

"I can't believe this", she exclaimed, her voice shaky. "I just..." She sighed before rubbing her eyes. "I knew his job was dangerous. But he loved it. That's who he was. And now..." She didn't finish her sentence, because her voice cracked, a sob rising up from her throat.

John moved a bit closer to her, gently talking her hand. He watched her carefully as she cried, her whole body shivering, but didn't say anything. Nicole just remained in her position, also silent. She was unsure about how and when to proceed next.

"Do you know did Michael have any enemies?", John asked softly, still holding Helene's hand. "Do you have any idea who would want to hurt him?"

Helene took a deep breath, straightening up a bit. "Well... his job was dangerous, obviously. But he never mentioned anyone in particular. We didn't talk much about his job anyway."

"What about his... your personal life?", Nicole asked. John briefly glanced at her, but didn't say anything.

"He has a younger sister", Helene answered, smiling sadly for a moment. "Sara. She is sort of... estranged. They don't get along very well. But she could never do something like that."

"Just a routine question", John proceeded. "Where were you yesterday, between ten and twelve pm?"

"Here", Helene answered. "Home alone, sleeping." She smiled sadly. "I couldn't wait for the morning to come, so I would... see again..."

"It's all right", he was whispering softly, still holding her hand. "It's all right."

"Pardon me for asking, but can we have a look at... the master's bedroom?", Nicole asked softly. "And the workroom, if he had one."

"It's OK", Helene said. "Down the hallway to the right. He didn't have a workroom."

"Would you mind coming by the precinct sometime, providing fingerprints and DNA sample?", John asked. "For elimination purposes. Routine."

"Sure", Helene said, nodding her head.

Helene followed them to there. The master's bedroom was of average size, and it mostly consisted of the queen size bed by the middle of the room, a closet to the left, and a writing desk to the right. The walls were painted white. There was a door next to the bed, leading into the bathroom. Two laptops had been placed on the writing desk; one blue, the second one white. John and Nicole took up walking around the room, looking around as they did. Nicole soon turned her attention to the blue laptop on the writing desk, observing it for some time before turning to face Helene.

"I take it that this was his laptop", she exclaimed gently.

"Yes, it was", Helene answered, widening her eyes. "How did you know?"

"Crumbs on the top", Nicole explained, somewhat awkwardly. "And the scent. They matched to a bag of chips that forensics found... on his possession this morning. And it's the blue laptop, so..."

Helene just nodded her head, looking away. Her lips were pressed together tightly, her eyes still watery.

"We have to take it down to the precinct, put it up for analysis, examine the content", John explained. "It may help us with the investigation."

Helene nodded her head, biting her lower lip before answering. "Sure, you go ahead."

"I assume that it is password protected", Nicole said. "Do you happen to know the password?"

"Yes, it is, but no, I don't", Helene said. She then walked away, closing the door behind.

Both John and Nicole looked after her for some time. Nicole then shifted her gaze to the photographs on the wall and began walking around the room, observing them. She would often look at the bed. "They really did have a happy marriage. Or so it seems", she noted, still observing. "Bed sheets and pillows equally wrinkled on both sides, plenty of family photographs around..." She examined a bedside table, peeking into the drawers. "A full package of condoms in the first drawer to the bedside table." Walking over to the other end of the room, she opened the closet and looked inside. "Lots of clothing in this closet, some size S, some size X..."

"None as expensive as that one pair of boots that Backstrom concentrated on", John noted, glancing at Nicole as he did. He walked back over to the bed. "Alarm clock set at five thirty am. She really wanted to see him again as soon as possible."

Nicole walked into the near by bathroom and took a quick look around before opening the bathroom cabinet. "Two toothbrushes and two types of toothpaste in the bathroom cabinet. Here, in the bathroom right next to the master's bedroom." She cringed. "And the expensive hair gel that Backstrom noticed."

John looked down at the floor as Nicole walked out of the bathroom, closing the door behind. "I'm still taking the laptop", she said. "I think Nicole will have no problems figuring out the password."

#

Nicole took one more glance at the house as she made her way out of the house and toward the car, followed by John.

"So... do you think that there is any chance that Backstrom is right?", she started carefully, turning to face John. "That Michael Gray was corrupt?", she said silently.

John remained silent for some time, a frown appearing on his face. "Theoretically, anyything is possible." He looked away. "But have you seen any strong evidence of that in his house?", he questioned. "Besides, was a patrol officer. Not actively involved in any criminal investigation."

Nicole ran a hand through her hair. "No. But we have yet to examine his laptop and bank accounts." She ran a hand through her hair. "There have been cases of patrol officers guarding drug warehouses, taking cuts from the criminals they would spot while on patrol..."

John sighed. "Backstrom is a good man. But he is cynical. And he's been going through a lot lately. Don't concentrate too much on what he insists on, not at the moment. He can make out too much out of certain things, all to fit the worst possible scenario. Wait for the evidence. See where they lead you."

"Leave forensics to the jury", Nicole quoted Backstrom in response, almost absent-mindedly. John glared at her briefly, but didn't respond.

#

Hookers. There they were. Three of them, dressed in skinny tops and short skirts, standing with their back against the alley wall. Everett's stomach sank, and he gritted his teeth. That was rare: he was right, but he didn't like that. He locked eyes with the one in the middle-tall, African American, with shoulder length black hair-and walked over to her.

"Hey, baby", she said filtratiously. "Wanna have some fun?"

Everett sighed. "I thought I'd find you here." He reached into his pocket. "Even in the mid afternoon, huh?", he commented before pulling out a piece of paper and showing it to her.

The prostitute glared: she seemed concerned for a moment, but quickly put a seductive smile back on her face."Boy. You really wanted to make sure you'd find us."

"Cut the crap", Everett snapped. "I found that hidden in the arm rest, in the patrol car, belonging to the police officer who was murdered yesterday night."

The woman's eyes grew wide and she flinched. "Something tells me you didn't share that discovery with your... superiours", she tried, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Why did he need that?", Everett started again. He snickered. "Was he screwing you?", he spat out, looking at every girl in front of him. "Was he your pimp? Or taking cuts from your pimps."

"You sure are eager to find out the truth", the one he approached commented.

"You bet your life I am", Everett muttered.

The witness-to-be pouted, tilting her head to the side. "Too bad I have some troubles... remembering everything." She raised her eyebrows as Everett's face fell. "Maybe fifty bucks will... refresh my memory."

Everett groaned, but pulled out his wallet, and quickly came up with fifty dollars, that he handed to the woman standing in front of him. She took the money and counted everything twice, before hiding the bills in her bra.

"There was that one cop. He met us a few times while on patrol. He could have arrested us. But he kept talking about how we could stop doing this, change our lives... blah blah blah. It didn't work, of course. But he would give us some money, sometimes. He didn't ask for anything in return. I guess he wrote down this address."

"Good Samaritan, huh?", Everett commented, a sulk appearing on his face.

"You don't believe me?", the prostitute questioned.

"I do", Everett admitted. "Lying to a police officer who is on a search for a cop killer is risky, even for a low-life for you. Had you decided to lie to me, you would have asked for more than fifty bucks. No matter how cheap you are."

"Thanks", the witness commented sarcastically, glaring at him.

"Of course, your pimps probably didn't think fondly... of that cop."

"None of us told him. The guy was sweet, he would give us money." "And if any of them knew, we either wouldn't be on this location now, or that cop would have been killed much sooner."

#

Sara's apartment was pretty cluttered, but modest. She was sitting in am armchair, opposite to John and Nicole, who were sitting on a couch. There was a TV on the small table in front of the armchair, as well as the small table near the couch, filled with homemade clay pots, nicely decorated with drawings, mostly in pink and blue colors. There were boxes of clay and paint on the floor near by.

"When was the last time you saw him?", John asked.

"About a week ago", Sara answered. "I dropped by his house when Helen was away... I needed a loan. I'm starting my own business. Pottery."

"Nice", she commented, smiling slightly. While Sara wasn't looking, she pulled the phone out of her pocket and clicked at the camera icon. She carefully adjusted the angle to the pots on the table and took a photograph.

"Did he give it to you?", John asked.

Sara nodded her head. "Yes." She shuddered. "I spoke to him last night. Over the phone. That was the last time I heard of him."

"About what?", Nicole asked.

"Just a small talk", Sara answered, shrugging. "Brother/sister stuff." She smiled sadly. "I missed him. I wanted to... smooth things out."

"Where were you last night between eleven and twelve pm?", John asked.

Sara shuddered. "Here. Alone. Working on... the pots and all."

Soon, John and Nicole were outside again, into a cluttered alleyway full of strange odors, making their way toward the car. Nicole grinned, pulling her phone out of her pocket and showing the photograph, that she had taken in Sara's apartment, to John. "Look", she exclaimed. "We can't get a warrant yet, but I think that, even by this photographs alone, forensics will be able to concluded is this type of color the one found on the patrol car. Perfectly legal: it was on a visible spot."

"It does look like a match", John agreed, still looking at the photograph. "Good job."

Nicole slipped the phone into her pocket and the two of them continued walking down the alley. Suddenly, he noticed something that made him stop in his tracks. He stared at the certain area of the pavement, his eyes wide. Nicole, having noticed that, also stopped.

"Wait", he exclaimed, pointing at that spot with his finger. Nicole turned into that direction.

"Look", he said. "Broken glass." They both leaned closer, inspecting the mess closely. "This looks like blood."

"Maybe was murdered her", Nicole suggested, straightening herself up.

"Right next to the building where his estranged sister lives", John commented, pulling the phone out of his pocket. "Probably still not enough for a warrant, this alone. But I am going to call forensics and tell them to take samples of this and examing that area. They should also check any traffic and security cameras near by."

#

Backstrom got back to the precinct just after the lunch break, a frown on his face. He headed straight to the workroom. Three people were there: Paquet, sitting at her desk and working on laptop, Peter, finishing a phone call, and Nicole, sitting at her desk and going through the notes in her notepad.

Paquet briefly glanced at him, then turned her attention back to the laptop. Nicole did the same, her cheeks turning blushed. Peter just took a long, somewhere surprised look at Backstrom, before turning his attention to the near by "case collage" already devised by Paquet, while still talking on the phone.

At that point, John and Moto walked into the workroom. They exchanged awkward glances with Everett before turning to Peter and Nicole.

"We have a drug dealer in custody", John explained. "Shermain Reyes. He operates in one of the neighborhoods where patroled last night. Well, he did-he is mostly pulling strings from the shadows on. He has been suspected of two murders before, although never convicted. A month ago, Michael arrested one of his henchmen after pulling him over due to a minot traffic offence and finding an unlicenced firearm in his posession."

"And I'll come with you, Everett declared.

John seemed uneasy, but he just nodded his head and headed toward the interrogation room, followed by Nicole and Everett.

#

Shermain was sitting at the table in the interrogation room: Nicole and John were also sitting at the table, opposite to him. Everett was standing near by, his arms crossed over his chest. The camera near by was running.

Shermain smirked at them, acting like he had no care in a world at the moment. "Seriously, people? You dragged me all the way here for this?"

"Dead cop isn't enough of a reason for you?", John asked, barely controlling his rage.

Shermain leaned over, fondling his hands together. "Frankly, no."

"Where were you last night between element and twelve pm?", Backstrom asked, sounding annoyed.

"At my place with some of my homies", Shermain answered, leaning back into his chair. "Playing poker, things like that."

"Real reliable", Nicole commented sarcastically.

Shermain sighed. "I don't know what to tell to you guys." He looked at Nicole. "Besides, that GSR test was negative!", he cried.

Everett, looking bored, pulled a pen out of his pocket and and started twirling it in his hand, observing it as he did. He would sometimes sneak glances at Shermain.

"It came back inconclusive", Nicole pointed out. "Big difference."

"Maybe we should search your place, see what turns up", John suggested, smirking.

"You have no basis for that!", Shermain protested.

"You see this?", Everett suddenly asked, showing the pen to Shermain.

Shermain frowned. Nicole and John glared at Everett. He remained calm.

"Yeah", Shermain answered, confused.

"Catch!", Backstrom suddenly yelled and threw the pen at Shermain. Shermain didn't manage to react quickly enough: the pen hit him in the chest and then rolled on the floor.

"Hey!", he protested.

"He didn't do it", Everett concluded, picking up his pen and pocketing it. He quickly made his way through the door and out of the interrogation room, with John and Nicole staring at each other and then back at him, shocked.

"Thank you!", Shermain yelled after Backstrom, shortly before John and Nicole walked outside too.

Backstrom was quickly making his way down the hallway, pretty much ignoring John and Nicole, who followed after him, and Peter, who soon tagged along.

"Reyes isn't guilty", Everett exclaimed.

"And you are basing that conclusion on what, exactly?", John asked, frowning.

"Reflexes", Everett explained, still walking. "He couldn't even catch that pencil. He might handle himself in some thug vs thug shoot out, but are we supposed to believe that he shot an experienced police officer to death before he-the officer-even managed to pull out his weapon? That could explain why Shermain is, apparently, now off the streets. Mostly. I guess long term drug use really takes a toll on you."

"Seriously?", Nicole cried.

"It could have been one of his henchmen", John suggested. "Not Reyes personally."

Everett snickered. "Just think logically. Besides, why would a known drug dealer murder a cop and then nove the body elsewhere? Guys like that want to send a message, mark their teritory."

"And a police investigation, of a cop murder, on his teritory, would have been pretty risky", Peter pointed out.

"On top of that", Everett continued, ignoring him, "after supposedly murdering a cop, a notorious drug dealer, or one of his henchmen, took the cop's watch and wallet, but left both of his guns behind?" He glared at his colleagues. "Check Michael Gray's bank records. I'm sure that will shed plenty of light on this case."

With that, he retreated to his office.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I don't own any of the "Backstrom" characters and I am not making any money from writing this.**

 **Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.**

Backstrom was sitting slumped on the couch, in front of TV. Gregory walked by, shopping in his tracks upon noticing some... unusual images on the TV screen.

"National Geographic?", he exclaimed.

Everett sighed. "The only way to avoid the news about the case I'm working on."

Gregory frowned. "The dead cop?"

Everett just nodded his head.

Gregory sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Any news about your father?", he eventually asked. "Any news about your father?", he asked. "I mean... the case?"

Everett sighed. "Just the usual crap", he answered.

Gregory just nodded his head and went upstairs to his room.

#

Nicole was pacing around the workroom rather nervously, a cup of coffee in her hand. Peter was sitting at his desk, going through bunch of papers. Nicole stood by the side and glared at the content.

"What is that?", she exclaimed.

Peter looked up, almost appearing confused. "Victim's bank records", he explained.

Nicole stared back at him in a rather odd manner. Peter sighed. "It is a part of investigation, Backstrom's speculations aside." He frowned. "By the way, have you seen him today?"

Nicole shook her head. "No". She sighed, sitting down at her desk. "You found anything interesting?", she asked, rubbing her eyes.

Peter looked up at her. "As a matter of fact, I did." He held one of the papers up for Nicole to see. "He received a payment two weeks ago. Two weeks ago. From a man named Jake Newman. That is stated to be a consulting feed. Only Jake Newman owns a bakery. He also has a prior criminal record for theft and burglary." "Phone records show that the two of them co responded a lot lately. But only through personal phone."

"Maybe we should pay him a visit", he said.

#

Within half an hour, Jake was sitting at the table in the interrogation room, opposite to Nicole and Peter. He was a rather young looking Caucasian man of average height and weight, with short brown hair and brown eyes, dressed in a red T-shirt and jeans. The print outs of the bank records laid on the table in front of him. The camera near by was running.

"Michael and I were friends", he said. "Ever since High school." He sighed, looking down at the floor for a moment. "I couldn't believe when I heard that he had been murdered. "

"But you didn't contact the authorities", Peter pointed out.

Jake looked up. "I felt that I didn't know anything that could help you guys."

"Explain the deposit", Nicole said, pointing at the print outs on the table in front of Jake. "What could you possibly consult about?"

"Michael would help me when I was going through the hard time", Jake explained. "Which was often. I accumulated that debt over time, sum by sum. Not that he ever held that against me, but still. Once I finally landed on my feet, made some money, I paid that back to him. All at once. Explaining it as a consulting feed was his idea. He didn't want to answer all those boring questions. Or his wife to know all the details."

"She didn't approve of you?", Nicole questioned. "That is why you would only call to his personal phone?"

Jake shrugged. "Yeah. But who wouldn't?"

Nicole leaned over, looking Jake in the eyes. "Or maybe you owned him much more money", she said in a husky tone. "The money that you didn't have, or didn't want to give away. You gave him that two thousand dollars only to calm him down a bit. And then, two weeks later..."

"No!", Jake cried. "How could you even think of something like that?"

"Where were you two nights ago between ten and twelve pm?", Peter asked.

"Home, alone. But I didn't kill anyone!" He looked at Peter, then back at Nicole. "Search my house, car, anything! You'll see!"

#

Backstrom was standing in front of gun locker, observing the door carefully, even smelling the metal at times. John stood in the doorway, observing him for some time before approaching him. They exchanged a brief glance before Everett turned his attention back to the locker.

"To be honest, this was the last place I expected you to find", John commented, signing. He turned to look at the locker. "Michael Gray's gun locker."

"It has been vandalized", Everett pointed out, turning to face John, who frowned. "Scratches on the lock", Everett explained, pointing to the damage. "Fresh, no rust. Strong smell of paint thinner. Somebody cleaned something nasty off it lately."

"So it would appear", John agreed, taking a closer look at the locker.

Everett sighed, looking around. John was still studying the locker. Eventually, Everett groaned and sat on the small stepping stool near by. "I asked around", he said. "Michael recently got into an argument with a fellow patrol officer, Kyle Miller. A week ago, Kyle got into a dangerous pursuit." Everett fondled his hands together, then continued. "No real reason, just some stupid kids driving a stolen motocycle. He caused some damage on the department's car. found out and reported it. Kyle had to pay for the damage, was almost suspended." He took a deep breath, smiling slightly. "Sounds like a motive to me."

John slowly turned to face Everett, glaring at him. "First the victim was a crooked cop, now the guy who killed him is a cop also?", he exclaimed more than asked.

"The evidence seems to support that theory", Everett pointed out, still sitting down.

"With an emphasis on "theory"". "By the way, I just heard from Nicole and Peter. Somebody did give a nice sum of money. From a friend. He paid back his debt."

Everett flinched for a moment, but remained calm. "So he says", he replied, before looking up at John. "Does he have a criminal record?"

"You are going to talk to Kyle, right?", Backstrom questioned, making John stop in his tracks. They exchanged a look. "Otherwise, I might have to do it myself", Everett warned John. almost tauntingly.

John was looking back at Backstrom, breathing heavily. "Don't worry about that", he eventually said after a tense silence, then walked away.

Backstrom remained sitting there.

#

John and Moto felt awkward, sitting at the table in the interrogation room, opposite to Kyle Miller. He was a tall African American man in his 30s, still dressed in his police uniform.

"How dare you?", Kyle hissed, grinding his teeth. His face was flushed. "Accusing me of murdering my brother in blue?"

"This is just a routine questioning", John explained, calmly. He took a deep breath. "Though we heard that the two of you didn't get along well lately."

"We had our... conflicts", Kyle admitted. "But I would never kill him!"

"You called in sick on the day he was murdered", Moto pointed out.

"I really was!", Kyle mantained. "The... timing was just a coincidence."

"Where were you that night between ten and twelve pm?", Moto asked.

"At home. My wife can confirm it." "I know, not much of an alibi. But maybe you should look into wife first."

"Helene?", John exclaimed.

Kyle scoffed. "I'd see him. Going to a bar accross the street after his night shift would be done. Stay there for an hour, sometimes more. Making sure his phone is turned off, even during the lunch breaks. For weeks, it was like that. And then he turned up dead."

John and Moto exchanged a look.

#

Nicole ran into Paquet in the hallway, with both of them heading toward the workroom. Paquet was holding two files in her hand.

"Forensic report?", Nicole inquired, as Paquet handed her another file.

"As for the bullets, no match in IBIS", Paquet exclaimed, as Nicole started going through the file. "No useful data from the GPS has been recovered. That paint is not that common, but still not rare enough to narrow down the pool of suspects considerably. And it doesn't match to the one used on those pots."

"Crap!", Nicole glanced, earning herself a glance from Paquet. They both sat down at their desk, lowering the files down.

"They are still working on fingerprints, blood and mold analysis", Paquet said, continuing. "The autopsy has been completed. Cause of death, not surprisingly, two gunshot wounds to the head. No other injuries, no signs of a struggle, nothing under his fingernails. Except for high amounts of caffeine, all tox screens came back clean. But they did get the results from that glass fragments and blood stains that you had noticed in that alleyway."

"Jerry Summer", Nicole read. "Multiple DUI arrests. Apparently, he damaged his car and mildly injured himself during one of his drunk shennaningas. That was the day before the murder, in that alleyway. He was in jail the night was murdered."

Nicole sighed. "Have you seen Backstrom?", she asked.

Paquet's eyes met hers. "Today? No."

Nicole breathed and looked away.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I don't own any of the "Backstrom" characters and I am not making any money from writing this.**

 **Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar ioomistakes, English is not my native language.**

Helene glared at John, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes watery. John shifted in place uncomfortably, looking back at her.

"Is this why you are here?", she asked accusingly. "Due to some... workplace gossip?"

"We have to investigate any possible lead", John explained calmly, looking her in the eyes.

"I didn't kill my husband!", Helene cried. "Maybe he would go to that bar, I don't know. Maybe he did need some... alone time, despite everything. But I had no knowledge of that. And I wouldn't have killed him if I had."

John sighed. "I just... if we didn't know about that, there night be other secrets. Something that could help us solve this case."

"I told you everything I knew", Helene claimed, clearly exhausted and upset. "I'm having hard time as it is. Please, leave me alone", she nearly pleaded, a tear rolling down her face.

#

Everett paced around the workroom the next morning, a cup of coffee in his hand. He kept glancing at the board, covered with crime scene photographs and police reports. Nicole, John, Moto and Peter were sitting at their desks, going through the case files, hoping to find another clue.

"Officer Gray's funeral will be held tomorrow", John informed Everetr, looking up from his file.

"And you don't want me to come?", Everett assumed, sitting down at his desk. "I won't object."

"Actually, we've been hoping you would come and behave yourself", Moto admitted. "And maybe work with us a little more, so we'd at least have something by then."

John fondled his hands together, looking Everett in the eyes. "Lieutenant... your father is a scumbag."

"Thank you", Everett replied gratefully, before taking a sip of coffee.

"But not every cop is", John added.

Everett gritted his teeth. "You think I don't know that?", he hissed. "I simply refuse to close my eyes in front of the signs", he insisted. "The evidence. I'm sure there are good cops out there. Maybe Michael Gray was one of them. But let's look at this with an open mind, please!"

"Maybe you should reconsider some things", John suggested, trying to stay calm.

"One of Michael's colleagues said that Michael was a bit... concerned after his gun got jammed once, a year ago", Peter added, looking at Backstrom. "Michael also mentioned that Helene, despite everything, feels uncomfortable with the gun in the house. That explains him having an extra gun, a personal gun, in the glove compartment. Ballistic examination showed that that gun has never been fired. And I finished checking the rest of his bank records. Nothing suspicious."

Everett stared back at him and John, breathing heavily. He then stood up and walked over to the board, his face flustered. "You want a clue?", he asked. "You want progress? Here it is!", he said, pointing at one of the crime scene photographs, featuring cups of coffee on the passenger seat of officer Gray's patrol car.

"All of this coffee cups looks the same", he exclaimed.

"They are the same", Nicole said, standing up and walking over to the board. "From the same chain of coffee shops. It is quite popular in Portland. How is that a clue?"

"Except for this one", Backstrom exclaimed, pointing to one of the cups on the photograph. Nicole, Peter and John walked over, observing it closely. "It has a small logo imprinted near the top", Backstrom explained, smiling proudly. "If you look closely, it is a miniature drawing of Theodore Roosevelt statue. A quick Internet search told me that such logo is being used by coffe shops stationated in downtown Portland, coffee shops near South Park Blocks."

Peter and Nicole frowned, observing the photograph closely, still not quite sure what they were seeing. Backstrom continued. "All the other coffee cups were empty", he explained. "This one was half full. The victim's latest destination was somewhere near South Park Blocks. Outside his patrol area for that night. He didn't log it, and he didn't keep any of the receipts, but this is as good clue as any." He glared at Nicole, then at John. "As cliche as that sounds, I'm in a pursuit of the truth, the justice, just like you. And I wonder what was officer Gray doing in that shady neighborhood that night."

#

Everette and Nicole exited the coffee shop, followed by John and Moto. And they weren't satisfied.

"The third coffee shop this far", John exclaimed, sighing, as they all made their way down the street, walking by one of the apartment buildings. "If he was here, nobody remembers him."

"That doesn't mean he wasn't here", Everett said.

"And no security cameras close by", Moto noticed, looking around.

"Stop", Everett said suddenly, stopping himself as he looked up at the near by building. Others stopped, also looking in that direction, without noticing anything that would warrant the attention.

"What?", Nicole eventually asked.

"Are you blind, Nicole?", Everett snapped, glaring at her before looking back up at the balcony again. "You took that photograph! I saw it on the board in the workroom... and now, I see it again."

Nicole's eyes widened. "The pots that victim's sister, Sara, is making", she noticed. She then turned to face John. "She said that none are for sale. Yet."

Everett sighed. "And here is one, almost identical to those from her apartment, on the third store balcony."

"Some skid marks on the pavement", Moto noticed, looking over the pavement in front of the building. "And that pink paint."

"I'll call forensics, tell them to examine this location", Nicole decided.

"First apartment to the right, judging by the position of this window", John concluded, also looking up at the balcony. "We better talk to its resident."

#

Lyndsay Stanworth, a young black haired woman, opened the door only after the third ring. She glared at the people in front of her as they flashed their badges, like she expected them.

"Ms. Stanworth, we're from Portland PD", John said. "May we come in, ask you a few questions?"

She rolled her eyes and stepped aside, gesturing for them to come in. "Sure, why not?"

Within a minute, they were seated in her living room, engaged in quite a blitz conversation with her.

"Yes", she confirmed, nodding her head. "I know Sara." She looked away for a moment, sighing. "She is my girlfriend", she admitted.

John raised his eyebrows. "And where were you two nights ago?", he asked.

"At home."

"Alone?", Everett asked.

"With Sara", Lyndsay answered calmly.

"With Sara?", John repeated, like he wanted to be absolutely sure.

"Yes", Lyndsay said. "And her cop brother dropped her off. In a patrole car."

"Why?", Nicole asked.

Lyndsay sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "From what Sara told me the next morning, and she didn't remember much, she was at a bar, drinking", she explained, then shrugged. "The bar closed up, they threw her out, but her car got towed. She tried calling me, but my cellphone battery was dead and I'm behind with my telephone bill... so she called him." Lyndsay sighed before continuing. "He was worried about her, it was a quiet night... he drove away from his "patrol area", picked her up and drove her to here." She ran a hand through her hair. "He wanted to take her to her apartment, but she insisted that he took her here, and I guess he was in no mood for arguing."

"And why did she want that?", Nicole asked.

Lyndsay glared at her. "Because she wanted sex. But she passed out within five minutes." She rolled her eyes again. "That's my luck. Anyway, she sobbered up and left early the next morning."

"Well, those are some pleasant odors", Everett commented, coughing. The air really was heavy, with an uncomfortable smell present.

"Have you taken a look around this neighborhood?", Lyndsay asked.

"That's not what Sara told us about that night", John pointed out. "She claimed she was home alone."

"I guess she didn't want to risk being considered a suspect", Lyndsay answered. "Maybe she was ashamed. I don't know."

"Do you remember seeing anything suspicious happen near this building last night?", John asked.

"I didn't go out that night, and I don't have a habit of staring through the window", Lyndsay answered, pretty dismissively.

"Do you remember hearing anything strange?", Everett asked, glaring at her. "Maybe something like a gunshot? Two gunshots?"

Lyndsay scoffed. "There are construction works just down the block, over the last week, the walls are pretty thick, and I live on the third floor. Someone could have gotten shot right outside and I wouldn't have heard it. Actually, I think hardly anyone living in this building would have."

Everett stood up and frowned at Lyndsay, before he started pacing around the apartment. "I'm a hot lesbian with an OCD and a nicotine addiction...", he started, walking around, often glancing at Lyndsay.

Lyndsay frowned at him. "Pleased to meet you."

Everett snickered. "Sara's brother doesn't approve of her relationship. Of me. He is done helping her. He deserves to pay. So I make him pay."

Lyndsay chuckled. "You guys are crazy. Where would I get a gun anyway?"

"How do you know the victim was shot to death?", Nicole asked.

Lyndsay glared at her. "Seriously? It's all over the news." Nicole blushed, looking away.

"Sara is a troubled girl", Everett continued. "She steals. She drinks. That works for me. Her brother tried helping her, set her on the right track. That doesn't work for me. So I take him out."

Lyndsay looked Backstrom in the eyes. "I'm a washed out detective with too many ideas", she said, making him cringe. Then she glared at him. "And, with the threat of being sued, I leave. Now."

#

"Well, Sara lied, but other than that... nothing useful", John exclaimed as je and the others headed down the staircase.

"She probably just returned to her apartment from Lyndsay's when we came to question her", Nicole concluded. "Man, it really does smell so bad in here", she commented, grimacing.

"Probably that awful fast food place near by", Moto suggested. "And those dumpsters out front. Residents probably ain't even complaining anymore."

"It's more than that", Everett concluded, frowning as he sniffed the air several times. "This is a smell of decomposition", he explained, a look of realization appearing on his face. "An early stage of decomposition", he exclaimed, looking around and then walking up the stairs quickly, inhaling sharply as he did. Others followed him, still surprised, and not entirely convinced. "The smell that I can trace", Everett noted, climbing up the stairs quickly.

He finally stopped in front of the apartment number twenty-three, on the fifth floor, staring at the door with wide eyes, a look of disgust appearing on his face. "It is coming from this apartment", he concluded.

Nicole sighed. "Now we need a warrant."

"I think I hear a baby crying in there", Everett said, turning to face the others. "Moto, kick the door in or something. We need to save this poor child. Unless it is just a TV on, but we can't really take chances."

John just glared at Everett tiredly. Before Nicole could object, the door was broken in, with Moto rushing inside, his gun drawn, and others stepping inside carefully, following him, slowly aiming their own guns.

There was no one inside... no one alive.

Once again, Everett Backstrom was right.

Lowering their guns, they all looked down at the decomposing corpse on the kitchen floor.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I don't own any of the "Backstrom" characters and I am not making any money from writing this.**

 **Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.**

 **Sorry about the delay. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter and that this is a satisfying conclusion.**

Backstrom was sitting on a chair, glancing at the body, then at the near by kitchen table every now and then. Peter was crotched next to the body, taking a close look at the level of decomposition.

"Based on the rigor mortis, I'd say she died about two days ago", he concluded. "The same day Michael Gray was murdered. Yellowish skin discoloration, signs of vomiting... that usually points to poisoning. No other visible injuries, no defense wounds, no signs of a struggle. No gunshot wounds, no stab wounds..."

Moto took a step closer, an envelope in his hand. "Bills, delivered to her yesterday. Unopened."

"It looks like her wrist watch broke once her body hit the ground", Pete noted. "Eight pm. Dated two nights ago."

"A bottle of pills. And a suicide note", John noted. He picked it up and started reading it out loud. " _I lied. It was all a lie. I just wanted fame, maybe some money... but I can't allow something like that to happen. But I can't come clean either. I'm sorry, Ted."_

Everett sighed, picking up a suicide note, already bagged, from the kitchen table.

"I found a lease", Nicole exclaimed, walking back into the kitchen, a piece of paper in her hand. "Jane Ketchum. That same name is on this ID card and driver's licence. The photographs seem to match. I also found her resignation papers. She quit her have two months ago. She worked as a bartender. There are lots of papers and files in her room. I'll take them all down to the precinct. Also, she had a loaded gun in her bedside table. I found a gun permit, and a receipt... recently issues license, recently purchased firearm."

"She was afraid of someone", Everett concluded. "But whom?"

"No signs of breaking or entering", John noted, looking around. "No valuables taken. A suicide note. A bottle of pills. Unfinished dinner."

"This was not a suicide", Everett concluded.

Nicole frowned. "What makes you say that?"

Peter straightened himself up before chimming in. "Well, one could argue that this woman committing suicide in the building located right at the location Michael Gray was murdered, on the same night it happened, would be too much of a coincidence..."

"Shush, Peter", Everett said, cutting him off. He groaned, standing up. "This woman was young, athletic. Bunch of make up in her bathroom cabinet. She was not the type to make herself dinner at eight pm. Besides, who commits suicide in the midst of preparing a delicious dinner?" "That, and the broken wrist watch, means that somebody murdered this woman, probably before or after eight pm, and made it look like a suicide. In order to establish his or her alibi, the murderer re-set the watch, broke it, and set up the "dinner scene"."

"So it was in his or her interest for the body not to be discovered right away", Nicole added. "So the autopsy would be useless in determining the approximate time of death. Within hours range, I mean."

"Michael Gray happened to be near by", John theorized. "Dropping his sister off at her girlfriend's place. If he encountered the killer, leaving the scene..."

"You guys may be right", Peter noted, taking a closer look at the floor and some furniture. "Traces of pink paint on the floor and this armchair. Looks like the match to the one on the pavement out front. And to the one found on Michael Gray's patrol car."

"So, who is Ted?", Nicole wondered. "And what did she make up?"

"Her apartment is well secured", Everett noted, looking around. "Dead bolts on the door, even on the windows, home alarm... judging by this traces of wooden dust and a lack of rust, she installed most of those recently."

"It makes one wonder... what had happened to her?", Moto wondered.

"Except for this window", Everett noted, standing in the other end of an apartment. "Old, kind of loose. She didn't have time or money, or both, to fix it, so she didn't install a good lock. Somebody could have easily sneaked in there, and then out. With some caution, the alarm probably wouldn't even go off."

"Anyway", John concluded, "we still have a suspect. A person we knew lied."

#

Sara sighed, looking away from Everett and John, who were sitting at the table in the interrogation room, opposite to her. She was tense, her eyes watery.

"I was embarassed, OK?", she admitted silently. "And I knew that admitting that would make me, and Lyndsay, come off as suspicious. And I felt that it would add nothing to your investigation. So I lied. I'm sorry."

"Telling us where your brother was the night he got murdered wouldn't help us?", Everett said in a snarky tone, glaring at her.

"I had no idea that he was murdered there!", Sara cried. "I swear. And why would I Kill him."

John and Everett both sighed, exhausted. They, too, had no comeback to that point.

#

Paquet caught up with John in the hallway, an excited look on her a face, a file in her hand. They both exchanged a look that was enough for her to start talking, with both of them walking still.

"OK, I've been examining Michael Gray's social media records", she explained. "Over the last few weeks, he had received multiple hits on his Facebook profile, and friends requests, from a woman named Kelly Idles. The last one being the day prior to his death. He never responded."

"Not much, but it is a bit suspicious", John noted.

Paquet continued. "I ran her name through our database. I found a close match."

John frowned. "A close one?"

Paquet slowed down, looking John in the eyes. "Her younger brother, Danny, had been murdered in a shoot-out with the police two years ago. Three months ago, Kelly obtain a gun license, and, soon afterward, purchased a .45 caliber gun, and an amunition."

#

Kelly Idles, a young blonde woman dressed in plaid T-shirt and jeans, stared back at John and Pete blankly, her hands pressed against the interrogation room table. She briefly glanced at the near by camera, signing softly.

"Cops kill your brother", John started, making Kelly flinch. "You keep trying to contact a cop through the social media sites. He ends up dead. Murdered with the same type of gun you own."

"I didn't kill him", Kelly insisted.

"Where were you two nights ago, between eleven and twelve pm?", Pete asked.

"Home", Kelly answered. "Alone. Asleep."

"We have a search warrant", John informed her. "Our people are searching your house and car now. If there is an evidence linking you to the murder, they will find it. And you can never get rid od everything.

"I have nothing to do with any murder!", Kelly cried. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"Why would you even try contacting Michael Gray?", John asked.

Kelly shrugged. "I just... came across his profile a few weeks ago", she explained. "He seemed nice. For a cop. And we seemed to have some things in common, judging by his posts. I thought, maybe it was the time to let the anger go. See the way things truly are. I tried contacting him. He never responded."

"Ms. Idles' gun doesn't match the ballistic evidence", she said, almost shyly.

John sighed. Kelly gave him and John an annoyed look. "Can I go now?", she asked.

#

Everett just drained his cup of coffee. As he approached the coffee machine, he threw the cup into the trash can and took another one, just as John approached the same machine, about to take the cup also. He glanced at Backstrom', calmly listening to the sound of warm liquid hitting the hard paper surface.

"Hard day, huh?", he commented.

"I just want this to be over it", Everett admitted, before taking another sip.

Moto approached them, a file in his hand. "I've been going through our database, focusing on the neighborhoo where, as we know now, Michael Gray was probably murdered", he exclaimed. "There's been a string of robberies there, over the last month. Three convenience stores. According to some witness statements, the robber is using a .45 caliber gun. No incidents reported at the night of the murder, but maybe Michael noticed something suspicious, perhaps a robber staking out the place, and..." He ended with a shrug and a heavy sigh.

"There was a convenience store near that building", Everett noted.

Moto continued. "They have one strong suspect. A convicted felon living in the neighborhood, Zack Eggers. Still not enough evidence for a search warrant, let alone An arrest."

"I think the investigation into the murder of a police officer can get us at least that", Jhn said.

#

Zack smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. John glared at him, his hands fondled. "I ain't killed no cop", Zack claimed.

"We found evidence linking you to all three arms robberies", Pete informed him.

"But no murder", Zack calmly pointed out.

"Your gun is at the ballistics now", John informed him. "Once we get the results back, you're screwed."

"If you confess now, you may avoid the death penalty", Pete warned him. Zack just smirked, chuckling slightly.

"Where were you two nights ago between eleven and twelve pm?", John asked.

"Home, alone", Zack answered calmly.

At that point, the door opened. Nicole peeked inside, a rather sad look on her face.

John and Pete turned to face her, a questioning look in their eyes.

Nicole just shook her head.

#

Everett grimaced, getting himself another cup of coffee at the coffe machine. That case was really going nowhere. Paquet was still typing away on her computer, going through some records again.

Peter approached Nicole, who was sitting at her desk, studying the crime scene photographs taken at the latest crime scene. He was excited, several files in his hands. "I've been going through the documents found in Jane Farrel's apartment", he said, leaning over before opening the first file. Everett approached them, his attention arosed finally. "This is particularly interesting", Pete explained. A copy of a hospital report." And another. "A copy of a police report." Another one. "And news clippings."

"Ted Ketchum, an aspiring young football player, changed with raping a bartender during his Portland tour", Nicole read. Her face lightened up before she looked up at Pete. "I remember reading about that. I knew something sounded familiar! She filed the charges almost immediately. Her identity and specifics about the bar haven't been revealed, of course. She refused to come public until the trial. I think I read that he's out on bail."

"But, judging by this copy of a hospital report, Jane had been raped two months ago", Pete said. "And, according to the copy of a police report, she reported Ted Ketchum as a perpetraitor."

"That was the deal with the locks and a dead bolt and the gun!", Everett hissed. "I knew there must be something to that."

Nicole stood up, picking the files up from her desk. "I gotta show this to John", she decided. "We need a search warrant."

#

Ted Ketchum, tall and stocky, dark-haired Caucasian man in his 20s, smirked at John and Nicole, who were sitting at the table in the interrogation room, opposite to him. Everett was standing to the side, glaring at the suspect, hands crossed over his chest. The camera near by was running.

"This is not your day, Ted", John exclaimed, opening the file. "Traces of pink paint found on Michael Gray's car, and in the alleyway next to Jane apartment, and in Jane apartment, match to the one currently used to re-paint your mansion."

"Plenty of people could have gotten into a contact with it", Ted said calmly. "And I douheytbrownstonw they only use such paint for my house."

"You're right about that", Nicole agreed, nodding her head. "But since you are both a suspected rapist and a suspected cop killer, not even the best of lawyers can help you... with some things. We not only got a warrant for the paint samples, but a search warrant for your mansion. And the car."

"I have to admit, you did a pretty good job of cleaning everything up", John exclaimed. "But not good enough. Our guys checked underneath the bumper. They found traces of dirt, matching to the one found on Michael Gray's car. We also found small traces of gunshot residue inside the car. And small traces of. The pills that odid on."

"We know that you own a gun", Everett said. "Caliber .45. You picked up the shell casings and changed the barrel, so no luck with the ballistics. But the chemical component of the bullets in your amunition matches to the bullets recovered from Michael Gray's body."

"I'm a rich kid rapist", he exclaimed, slowly walking over to Ted, who calmly looked back at him. "I take what I want, when I want, and I think that I am untouchable. Due to all the fame. And money. But finally, one of my victims reports me. I still have chances of winning. Money talks. But why take the risk? Spend the money? Get your name dragged through the mud? And once she speaks up and reveals her identity, how many of my other, prior, victims will get courage to speak up? Why fight or get rid of them all if I can just off her? And even make it appear that I've been innocent all along?"

He sat on the edge of the table, looking Ted in the eyes. Ted flinched, his face blushed slightly, but he didn't respond.

"I learn of her address", Everett continued, his voice filled with hate and determination. "I probably follow her around for some time, get to know her habits. One night, I sneak in her apartment through the back window, after climbing up the fire stairs. Armed with a gun and a knife. And a bottle of pills. I confront her, threaten her. I offer her a choice. Slow, painful death... or the other option. I estage suicide, even write a fake suicide note. I even take care of my alibi. But, as I'm leaving the building, I encounter a patrole officer, who sees me. I can't allow that risk. I have to at quickly. As he gets back into his car, I approach him. I act normal, like a concerned citizen. He lowers the window. I pull out my gun and shoot him to death!"

"I pick up the shell casings and tow his car to an isolated parking lot a few miles away", Everett spat out, his face flushed, rage and disgust evident in his voice. "I shoot into the GPS, take his watch and wallet, his phone, just in case, and a security camera from the car, and then I flee, hoping that nobody will find out, that I pulled everything off perfectly." Everett stared right back at Ted, gritting his teeth. "I was wrong", he concluded.

Ted looked back at Everett calmly, silent for some time. Then he leaned over, a smug look on his face. "I'm a young, handsome, rich man who has more fans than the number of police officers in this entire city, and more money than any of you could even dream of. And a few years-no, months-from now, I'd have a good laugh about this."

Everett stared back at him for some time, then stormed outside, slamming the door shut. John and Nicole gave Ted a disgusted look before leaving.

#

The finales to saddest things are usually quiet. Calm. And so was Michael Gray's funeral. Pete, Moto, John, Nicole, Paquet, and yes, Everett Backstrom, stood there, surrounded by dozens of uniformed police officers. Listening to the priest, watching Michael's family weep or just stare at the ground blankly, watching the casket being lowered down. They made sure to stay after the official ceremony to pay their respect and condolances.

It was on the way to the car that John stopped and turned to face a surprised Everett, reaching his hand out for him.

"Congratulations, leutenant", he commanded him.

Everett nodded his head, shaking John's hand. "We all solved this."

John smiled sadly. "But you're... the best."

"I was also wrong to speak ill of Michael Gray", Everett admitted, looking down at the pavement for a moment.

"You had every right to have your doubts", John reminded him calmly. "You called it the way you saw it." He sighed sadly. "And he did make a mistake. Went against the rules."

"But he was a good man", Everett added.

Moto nodded his head, a sad look on his face. "Indeed", he whispered.

#

Everett walked into his house tiredly, closing the door behind. Gregory was sitting in an armchair, watching a game show on TV. They exchanged a look, followed by quite a long silence.

"Hi", Gregory said. "Are you OK?"

Everett shrugged. "As okay as I can be."

He walked over to the trash can in the kitchen and reached inside, a tissue over his hand and a disgusted look on his face. He pulled out an envelope, as well as a letter. Gregory observed him curiously, a frown on his face. Everett headed back toward the door.

"Where are you going?", Gregory asked, surprised.

"To give this to the forensic", Everett answered calmly, stopping in his tracks. "Have them process this."

Gregory raised an eyebrow. "You said, multiple times, that there won't be any evidence on it, any way to trace it back to your father, just like it wasn't with any of the first letters."

Everett nodded. "So I said", he admitted calmly before leaving.

Gregory smiled, turning his attention back to the TV.

~THE END~


End file.
